


In Sheep’s Clothing

by Thymesis



Series: Star Wars Rare Pairs Collection (NC-17) [21]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Age Gap Exchange 2018, Alpha/Alpha, Drug Use, Exchange Assignment, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Heavy Angst, Knotting, M/M, Omega Verse, Pheromones, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymesis/pseuds/Thymesis
Summary: For as long as he could remember, Ben Solo knew in his heart that he would grow up to become an Omega.





	In Sheep’s Clothing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cerberusia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/gifts).



Kylo Ren drums his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his throne.

“If it please Your Excellency, the finest selection of Omega human males for Your Excellency’s inspection and delectation,” the obsequious slaver announces, gesturing grandly at the merchandise he has arrayed around the crimson throne room to what he believes will be the best advantage.

“They all look to be in peak condition,” General Hux murmurs into his ear. “Any one of them would make a suitable brood mate for such a magnificent Alpha as yourself, Supreme Leader…”

Kylo isn’t listening. What does Hux know anyway? He’s just another Beta. One of those slaves—yes, the copper-skinned one with the white-blond hair—is about to go into heat.

He can _smell_ it, and he’s already thickening beneath the folds of his black robes. Dammit, he took his serotryptan this morning…didn’t he? Didn’t he?! This shouldn’t be! Why is it wearing off _already_?!

Whatever. He has to get out of here.

Now.

Right. Now.

“If Your Excellency would like to take any of the merchandise for a short test run, I can assure Your Excellency that—” the slaver continues, heedless of Kylo’s growing ire.

“Enough!” Kylo roars.

“—that, t-that…well, perhaps another time?” the slaver concludes lamely as he and his hapless merchandise beat a hasty tactical retreat from the throne room’s center dais.

Kylo rises and, without a single word or a second glance, storms out, his cloak billowing behind him, the throng of cowed supplicants and fawning courtiers parting like water all around him.

“Thank you, gentlebeings,” Hux announces hastily, but that whiny, sycophantic voice of his is already blessedly fading into the distance. “Open court is hereby concluded…”

***

For as long as he could remember, Ben Solo knew in his heart that he would grow up to become an Omega.

It didn’t matter that it would make him a datacard-carrying member of a despised genetic underclass. It didn’t matter that the Omega phenotype was being systematically bred out of the human population galaxy-wide because the pheromones they emitted during their biannual heat cycles were deemed a menace to the regular social order. It didn’t matter that it was a recessive trait…and that his mother was an Alpha and his father was a Beta.

Because the first time he’d met his Uncle Luke, he’d known. Uncle Luke had blazed in the Force brighter than a plasma torch, and oh Gods oh Gods he had smelled like sex, like wild, passionate, no-holds-barred Alpha sex! Ben had been so terribly young then, so young that he was yet to fully comprehend what those baby hawk-bats fluttering low in his belly whenever Uncle Luke came within a distance of three meters signified.

Later on, after Ben had learned about Alphas and Omegas from torrid HoloNet sexploitation dramas that his mother didn’t know he was consuming, he’d arrived at a better understanding: When he reached sexual maturity, he would go into heat…and then he would be mated and bred.

By his Uncle Luke.

It was meant to be! It was his _destiny_!

Or not.

Male Omegas typically experienced their first heat at age twelve, but it didn’t happen to Ben when he was twelve years old. It didn’t happen at thirteen years old either. Or fourteen. Or fifteen. By the age of sixteen, he’d spent so many lonely, desperate nights stroking himself with one hand while fingering himself with the other—imagining the sensation of the copulatory tie swelling inside of him, feeling hopefully (but always in vain) for the lubrication that his body would someday secrete to ease his uncle’s passage—that it was a minor miracle he hadn’t injured something.

That was the year it had happened. He’d hardly noticed it at first, lost as he’d been in the sensuous avalanche of orgasm, but it was there, new and alien and _belonging to somebody else_ : a swollen lump at the base of his erection, easily double the girth of the shaft.

Ah, fate could be so cruel.

He wasn’t an Omega after all. He wasn’t even an ordinary Beta like his father and most of the rest of his species. He was an Alpha like his mother. Like his uncle.

His beautiful, beloved uncle, who would never, _ever_ be remotely inclined to mate with another Alpha. Uncle Luke would think him a pervert, a monster, for wanting what he did! Such desires were against an Alpha’s nature, against hundreds of thousands of years of biological imperative, and he— _Ben—_ was the unnatural one. If Uncle Luke found out, he would never want to be near, let alone speak to, Ben again.

Yet Ben had still wanted it. Wanted _him_. More than anything.

He’d been heartbroken. The grief, secret and shared with no one, had been actual physical pain, a starburst of agony in his chest. Ben had raged and cried; he’d punched through walls and torn apart the bedroom in his parents’ home. Oh, how it had hurt! He’d wished he could die. He’d even contemplated taking his own life, for that matter—a lightsaber blade through the heart would be all too easy.

But then he’d gotten an idea.

***

Kylo pushes the injector button, and serotryptan surges into his jugular vein. It stings, but the pain is familiar, comforting. Within a minute, the drug will reach his brain.

He sighs in relief as his burgeoning erection deflates and allows himself to fall back onto the bed. The injector he discards carelessly to the floor. He never wanted to be an Alpha, Gods knew, and what he must do to deny his body its natural urges has only become more difficult—and more difficult to conceal from those around him—with age.

The struggle is worth it, though. There is nothing Kylo Ren hates about himself more than his Alpha nature and his base, Alpha urges.

And besides, the languorous haze of the drug reminds him of—

“Ben.”

 _Luke_.

***

It hadn’t been easy, but at least with his (unbeknownst) unlimited access to his mother’s ample credits account, it had been _possible_.

Omegas were few and far between, and Ben was practically in Wild Space before he found one who hadn’t had his scent glands surgically removed and would agree to take Ben’s generous payment for services rendered.

What Ben wanted to do was bizarre, an almost unthinkable crime, see, and if he were caught the Omega would be adjudged an accomplice. But Ben wouldn’t be caught, he’d reassured the Omega, because there was no chance that his plan wouldn’t succeed.

Besides, it wasn’t like you could simply extract and bottle pheromones, either! It was work. Really hard work. You had to take samples—several of them—over the course of a standard week while the Omega was in the throes of his heat. _Then_ you had to find a rogue biochemist willing to synthesize the volatile compounds and stabilize them in a topical solution for storage, transport, and future reapplication. And you had to do all this without being driven into an Alpha mating rage yourself.

Thank the Gods for serotryptan.

So now here he was on a thin sleeping pallet in his apprentice’s cell, naked, on his stomach, back to the door, head adrift in a serotryptan haze and skin bathed in the pheromones of a donor Omega. He’d even mixed pheromones into the lubricant with which he had prepared himself to complete the deception. Each and every being in the Temple would be able to smell it…

…but Uncle Luke, the sole Alpha within a hundred kilometers, would be the only being affected.

“Ben.”

“Master.” He whimpered into the pillow. Realistic, he reminded himself, not too exaggerated. “I can’t—”

“You’re having your first heat, Ben. It’s entirely natural. There’s nothing to be scared of. It will pass in time.” Uncle Luke’s voice was calm, not the faintest sign of tension in it to hint at how tightly he must have been holding himself in check.

And he was standing in the doorway. Too far away. He needed to come nearer.

“Master, _please_. I can’t stand it. I need your help. Please, Uncle Luke,” Ben babbled, arching his back and displaying his buttocks as he imagined an Omega in heat would do, “please, please, _please_ —”

Cool, durasteel fingertips brushed the length of his spine; Ben shivered. Uncle Luke sat down on the flowstone floor beside him where he lay prone, but in spite of Ben’s hungry, labored breathing, Uncle Luke continued to hesitate, tentative, contemplating.

“An orgasm in the immediate olfactory presence of a sexually-mature Alpha should alleviate the worst of the symptoms,” Uncle Luke said at last.

Yes. Yes, exactly. _Finally._

Uncle Luke’s left hand caressed Ben’s cheek. His natural scent, musky and sour and Alpha-dominant, was strong at the pulse point of his wrist. Ben turned his head sideways into the caress and nuzzled it with his nose. He didn’t need to pretend he was aroused. Aaahhh, at last, at last, at last! He would have closed his eyes, euphoric, but he wanted to see it; Uncle Luke was going to—

Three prosthetic fingers plunged into his wet, seeping anus, scissoring and stretching the sphincter muscle remorselessly.

Ben jerked and gasped and pushed reflexively into the intrusion as sizzling, electric bolts of pleasure lit up his nerve endings from head to toe. It was so good, so good, but it wasn’t enough, no…no, but it was _so good_ …

“There, that’s it, that’s a good boy, Ben…let go…” Uncle Luke murmured.

How could Uncle Luke maintain this much self-control?!

“Ooohhh…”

“That’s right…”

No, that was wrong! He couldn’t let go yet! Not before Uncle Luke had taken him like an Alpha should!

But the ecstatic agony of Uncle Luke’s fingers went on and on and on, and Ben had only the serotryptan to thank for his endurance. This wasn’t acting. He clung to the precipice like a mynock to a starship hull, stubborn, refusing to fall, while he ground himself into the bed pallet, while Uncle Luke pleasured him with his fingers. On and on and on, until they were both aching, sweating, panting, near-mad with desperation.

“It’s not enough! Please, Uncle Luke, I need you inside me properly to come!” he wailed, pleading.

The fingers inside him stilled. Uncle Luke was trembling violently; the appeal to his Alpha instincts must be working. Suddenly, the fingers were gone, and Ben was gaping wide and empty, a howling cavern of raw need, and Uncle Luke was turning him over onto his back, and pushing his legs apart and up, and no no no, he couldn’t know, he couldn’t be allowed to see, he couldn’t be allowed to see Ben when he—!

Too late. Ben was already keening and coming and ejaculating wildly onto his stomach by the time that warm, blunt, unhooded glans was brushing against him.

So of course Luke saw.

***

Kylo Ren doesn’t believe his eyes. He thinks he must be dreaming.

This isn’t the Luke Skywalker he remembers. _This_ Luke is older, hair and beard longer, more gray. His white robes have become yellowed; his eyes are bloodshot and wet with unshed tears. And he is vaguely translucent, limned by faint, azure light.

It _is_ Luke, though. Kylo can sense the essence of him in the Force, as sure and as strong as on Crait.

And as insubstantial…?

Luke toes the discarded serotryptan injector on the floor and gives it a slight kick. It skitters away.

“Look at what you’ve done to yourself,” he says as he approaches Kylo’s bed.

“I’ve committed myself to celibacy,” Kylo retorts peevishly. “Those crusty Jedi of the Old Republic you revere would approve. I’m still a virgin too…and that would be no thanks to _you_.”

Luke does not seem impressed by this revelation. “Did you think I wouldn’t accept you—that I wouldn’t _love_ you—exactly as you are? That you had to trick me into believing that you are something you are not?”

“You rejected me.”

“I rejected your deception, not the fact of your desire.”

“And _would_ you have accepted ‘the fact of my desire,’ as you put it? Would you have reciprocated? I doubt that!” Kylo laughs bitterly and turns his head away so that he does not have to see Luke’s soft blue light. Why now? Why is he even having this conversation with a ghost?

When Luke, recoiling from the sight of his young Alpha body, had pushed him away…he had pushed him straight into the embrace of the dark side. At least the dark side had never judged.

“Let me show you the answer to your question.”

The mattress creaks and sinks as a new weight settles down beside him, and a hand touches his cheek, the scent exuded by the skin intoxicating, and suddenly he isn’t Kylo Ren anymore—he’s Ben Solo, sixteen years old and vulnerable and desperate for his Master, his uncle, to begin their mating rut.

A choked sob pushes its way out of Ben’s chest as Uncle Luke, hard and thick and long, pushes into him in a single, burning slide. At last. He’s waited his whole life to be taken with these powerful, surging thrusts, quick and confident right from the start. Over and over and over. Each pass rakes over his prostate gland. Over and over and over. His hips rise in tandem with the bottom of each stroke, and their flesh meets with a sharp, ringing slap each time.

Even better are Uncle Luke’s kisses. His coarse facial hair is a delightful tickle, the caress of tongue against tongue smooth and seductive. And the taste—! Uncle Luke is swallowing his cries, humming a soothing counterpoint that he feels more than hears. Ben squeezes his eyes shut because it hurts too much to look at Uncle Luke now, to be able to look  _through_ him—

“I’m so sorry,” Ben says. “I-I…”

“Shh.”

“B-but…”

“No words. Inhabit the moment.”

Ben obeys, and it’s perfect. So perfect. He twines his limbs around Uncle Luke, needing this closeness, this catharsis. At least he feels solid. They are chest to chest, skin to skin, moving as one, just like he’d dreamed. No, it’s more than he’d dreamed. But it isn’t real. It’s—

Abruptly, Uncle Luke wrenches his lips away from Ben’s with an animal snarl. Ben can feel the swelling inside of him, stretching him almost beyond his limits, and Uncle Luke bites down gently on Ben’s shoulder, teeth right over the place where his grandfather’s lightsaber has scarred him, and pushes hard one last time into Ben, as deep as he can go, so deep that Ben’s inner muscles seize with sweet tension and clamp down reflexively onto him, knotting them together.

Then Uncle Luke begins to ejaculate.

The first few pulses are fast and short, and the fluid emitted feels tingly, almost effervescent, but Ben is so lost in the sensuous thrill of the copulatory tie that it’s not until the first long, syrupy pulse that he realizes: This is how an Alpha breeds an Omega in heat—not a half-dozen or so simple spurts of semen, over in seconds, but a three-part serial ejaculation, lasting over a minute and a half and virtually guaranteeing successful impregnation of the Omega partner.

This joyful realization sends Ben tumbling over the edge, shrieking as he climaxes, and Uncle Luke’s prosthetic fingers slip between them, closing around, no, behind the swelling base of Ben’s shaft and squeezing, an unyielding durasteel ring simulating the sensation of a second knot. Uncle Luke is touching him there—! He isn’t disgusted by Ben’s Alpha body—!

Ben has never known such exquisite, annihilating ecstasy. Physical _and_ spiritual. It’s so intense that he passes out.

Later, when he does eventually awaken, Uncle Luke is nowhere to be seen. He does notice the small puddle of fluid on his abdomen, though. It looks thin, weak. Vestigial.

It doesn’t look like an Alpha’s semen. It could almost be an Omega’s.

Kylo Ren knows he’s being ridiculous; he’s had any number of lonely nocturnal emissions which looked just like that. But in the secret recesses of his boyhood heart, Ben Solo rejoices.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to the exchange on February 23, 2018.


End file.
